“The time to come from! Busy time! I dare say you’re so eager to work for outsiders, and don’t care to work for your mistress.—It’s all the same!”
“The work’s all the same, certainly, Nikolai Eremyitch—but—”
“Well?”
“The pay’s—very—”
“What next! You’ve been spoiled; that’s what it is. Get along with you!”
“And what’s more, Nikolai Eremyitch, there’ll be only a week’s work, but they’ll keep us hanging on a month. One time there’s not material enough, and another time they’ll send us into the garden to weed the path.”
“What of it? Our lady herself is pleased to give the order, so it’s useless you and me talking about it.”
Sidor was silent; he began shifting from one leg to the other.
Nikolai Eremyitch put his head on one side, and began busily playing with the reckoning beads.
“Our—peasants—Nikolai Eremyitch—” Sidor began at last, hesitating over each word, “sent word to your honor—there is—see here—” He thrust his big hand into the bosom of his coat, and began to pull out a folded linen kerchief with a red border.